


trapped

by thattumtho



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: M/M, Weight Gain, if you dont like weight gain you will not like this, im sorry but not really actually, lb2 spoilers, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattumtho/pseuds/thattumtho
Summary: after their battle, sherlock finds himself trapped by surtr, who plans to help him survive in this lost belt
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes| Ruler/Surtr | Saber
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	trapped

**Author's Note:**

> some notes:
> 
> \- this is a weight gain fanfic. if you do not like weight gain please, don't read.  
> \- involves piss drinking/being pissed on  
> \- mind break  
> \- im just a BIt sorry for this

Sherlock’s mind buzzed as he slowly came to.

His last memory was fighting the Lostbelt Saber, a masked fighter with blood red eyes. He remembered his clothes being ripped and the gash on his head, and Mash’s horrified scream. Those memories felt like years ago. All that remained was the faintest little headache.

Perhaps Nightingale had already healed him up in his sleep.

He tried to lift his hand up to rub his head, but found resistance. His eyes shot open and met a new ceiling.

The ceiling was made of cement, and Sherlock’s mind immediately jumped to a basement. His thoughts ran a mile a minute as he attempted to deduce where he was, and what had happened to his team. His gaze moving down, he studied the room he was in. There was one source of light - cuts of light around a closed door at the opposite end of the room. Everything else was shrouded in darkness, making it impossible for Sherlock to ascertain the time.

He was lying on some sort of a table, tied up by bands that in this position, he could not break. Two long ones ran across his chest and hips, while his arms and legs were tied against the ends, putting him in a star position. He suddenly felt more like in a Bond movie.

The room was scantily decorated, but he did see his cane, leaned up against the wall, in some sort of mockery of him. It would be impossible for him to reach it with how he was tied up.

His neck started to ache and he let his head fall back down so he stared up at the ceiling. In the darkness he could see spots in the cement.

So. What had happened?

He was certain that he had been kidnapped. While Nightingale’s tactics had always been more direct, she wouldn’t keep someone tied up after the surgery process was done. Plus, if he had, he might have been missing an arm.

The cane against the wall, and the scant lack of details in the room pointed to someone holding him away. They knew their enemy well by making it difficult for him to pick out details about them. 

But - they wanted to keep him alive. They must have healed him up, he was sure that it had not been that long since his battle with the Lostbelt Saber. The bindings, while tight, were not too uncomfortable to stop blood circulation. They could have tied him down completely, but allowed him to move his head around. They wanted him to guess.

His mind obviously jumped to Moriarty - he knew it had been a bad decision to accept him in Chaldea. But the timing felt wrong. Why would he attack now? While he definitely seemed like the type to add onto the drama, this felt just a little on the nose.

Thankfully for him, he wouldn’t have to deliberate much longer, as the door opened, and in that cast of light, his captor showed themselves.

The red, glowing eyes gave it away.

“Good morning, Holmes,” Surtr said as he closed the door behind him.

“Is it morning? Or are you just speaking pleasantries?” he replied, watching as Surtr walked into the room.

Surtr shrugged his shoulders, “You can decide that for yourself.”

He walked up along the side of the table, until he was standing right next to Sherlock’s face. “I’m sure you know the rules of this world.” 

He reached out to touch the ruler’s face, but he moved it away. A growl escaped Surtr’s lips but he did not act upon it, instead running his fingers down Sherlock’s neck and unfastening Sherlock’s bowtie. He remembers that his jacket was mostly destroyed after their fight - he was left to his first ascension, but Surtr had removed his metal corset.

“To survive here, you must be bred before a certain age,” he continued, putting emphasis on the word bred. His fingers dipped down to Sherlock’s stomach, pressing his hand flush against it. “Unfortunately, even with my runes, I cannot give you a womb.” He sighed, his fingers lifting off from Sherlock’s stomach and running down his legs. 

He continued down, reaching Sherlock’s calf, before jumping to the other one and walking up Sherlock’s side. He once again rested his armoured hand on Sherlock’s stomach. “The Queen Skadi herself does not believe in your usefulness, unfortunately, says I should simply kill you or feed you to the giants.”

Surtr turns to look at Sherlock, and he can almost feel his smile through the mask. “And while it is very tempting to see you eaten by giants,” he paused, “I promised her I would show her how useful you can be.”

He leans forward, “Perhaps, if you’re lucky, she’ll give you a womb.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, “And you do not want to simply use what I’ve been given?”

Surtr laughed. His hand darted to grip in between Sherlock’s legs, tightening his grip on his cock. “Oh, this?” The grip is harsh, but there’s a sweetness in the pain that has Sherlock glad he cannot move his hips up. “This is useless. I could get rid of it right now and it wouldn’t make a difference.” His fingers move down, under his balls, to prod Sherlock’s asshole through his pants. “No, you are simply a hole.”

His fingers draw away, running back up to cup Sherlock’s face. He holds it in both hands, so even with Sherlock moving his head back and forth as much as he can, his grip remains firm and the ruler can only stare into Surtr’s red, glaring eyes.

“But first, we must make you look the part.”

He let go of his face, moving away from the table and heading out. But before he left, he made sure to lift the strap on Sherlock’s chest and let it snap against his skin.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to this.”

\--

It felt like days since the first meeting. Sherlock’s mouth felt dry and his stomach groaned. An itching bubbled under the surface of his skin, and all he could do is scratch the table underneath him to relieve it. His back hurt from being in the same position for days, and he was sure he had memorized the ceiling.

All he could do is cycle through the information Surtr had given him. It was not a lot - he had been kidnapped, Skadi was still alive, Surtr wanted to turn him into breeding stock or something similar, Skadi wanted him dead. A vision of the frost giants flashed in Sherlock’s mind - okay, perhaps Surtr’s decision had been for the best.

The Lostbelt Saber was not a whole being. He was simply using another hero’s body. If he talked to him enough, perhaps he could get the Heroic Spirit to come through and free him. Or, since Surtr was only known for destruction and death, if he enraged him enough, that destruction would be enough to free him. He could evade for a bit and then… what?

He was unsure of Ritsuka’s position, or if Chaldea had been successful without him. His chest fell as he imagined them looking for him. No, they would have carried on without him, right? 

Sherlock resigned himself to one thing: he would be as nice as he could to Surtr, so he could figure out what had happened to Ritsuka.

His stream of consciousness was interrupted by the door flooding the room with light once more. Surtr once again closed the door after him, leaving them in that darkness.

When his eyes readjusted, not used to the burst of light, Sherlock realized he was carrying something. His nose told him that it was food - he caught the smell of meat and of bread. Sherlock’s stomach gurgled and he licked his lips.

“My, look at you,” Surtr chuckled, “How was your vacation?”

He set the food down on the floor. Sherlock’s stomach dropped.

“The village people, they love me,” Surtr began, reaching down and bringing the bread up. Sherlock could immediately tell there was something wrong with it - it wasn’t fresh, it crackled under Surtr’s touch. “Whenever I come to check up on them, they always shower me in food. And I mean, I can’t eat all of it, right?”

He ripped off a piece. It looked dry, like it had been sitting out for a while. It wouldn’t be soft, fluffy bread, but stale.

“So, I thought I could have you eat the leftovers.” Surtr looked down at the bread and chuckled, “Sorry, I must have forgotten about you though, it’s a little old.”

He placed the piece of bread above Sherlock’s lips. He waited.

Sherlock’s mind turned. No, he couldn’t just eat stale bread that had just been placed on the dirty floor. He didn’t know how old it was, or whatever else Surtr had done to it. His poison resistance was high, but with his reduced strength, it could still affect him. While he doubted Surtr was going to try and kill him, any drug could determine if he stayed here or escaped.

But his mouth watered, and his stomach begged. And he reminded himself that he needed to be nice to Surtr in order to get information from him. Yes, he was extremely hungry, and yes, he needed information.

So he opened his mouth, and Surtr placed it on his tongue. Sherlock closed his mouth as Surtr’s fingers left, and he swallowed hastily.

The taste was awful, it was dry, and with his dry throat it made Sherlock cough a little. 

Surtr laughed at his coughing spit. “Sorry, I should have given you something to wash it down with. Here.” 

Sherlock heard the sound of a cork popping, and a bottle was brought to his lips. With tears still in his eyes, he opened his mouth.

Surtr was slow with the pour. Sherlock quickly ascertained that it was thick whipping cream. It was heavy on his tongue and difficult to swallow in this position, but was fresh, as if it had been whipped that morning. He did big, full gulps, sighing as his thirst was quenched and the bottle drained.

“There you go,” Surtr said, patting Sherlock’s cheek. Remaining cream settled around his lips, as much as Sherlock tried to wipe it off with his tongue. 

He turned to leave.

“Wait-” Sherlock blurted before he realized what he was saying.

Surtr turned around, “What? Oh, is that all? Of course! Don’t want to ruin your figure, right?”

Fear struck Sherlock’s face.

“Right,” Surtr confirmed and left.

\--

Sherlock’s days started to roll one into the other. He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he had been outside, how long he had been trapped in this cell. All he could do is guess based on time passed.

After the first meal, he went away for a couple more days. Sherlock could smell the rest of the bread and the meat on the floor, and could only sigh as the days folded into the other. If the bread was stale then, it would be disgusting by now - completely inedible. The little bit of food had only been enough to kick back up his metabolism, and the heavy cream only just enough to sate his thirst.

When Surtr returned, he brought with him some boar’s meat, freshly cooked. His mask was off, and Sherlock was struck by how handsome the man was underneath.

He sat down on the table by Sherlock’s head and began his meal. Droplets of grease dripped dangerously close to his face, and he could only watch with open mouth and bated breath. He ate like an animal, rabid and without repent, just grabbing onto whatever he pleased and throwing away what he didn’t.

“Please,” Sherlock mumbled. The way the meat glistened, and the smell, it was unbearable - his stomach demanded some.

Surtr cocked his head and looked down at the table. He dipped a leg bone down close to Sherlock’s lips, just too high for him to reach.

“What would you like, Mr. Holmes?” he asks, a smirk on his lips. 

Thoughts ran through his mind. No, he shouldn’t be doing this. He could hold strong - he was a ruler, after all! If he was the one begging, Surtr would tell him nothing. He couldn’t ask for gifts from his captor if he wanted to find any way to escape.

He tried to use his natural insight to try and maybe make him change his mind, but all that did was make Surtr start laughing.

Surtr pinched his cheek. “Oh you are so funny, Mr. Holmes! Don’t you know? I thought you would have realized from our battle together.” He leaned in close, and Sherlock could smell the meat on his breath, and the grease on his lips. “I have debuff immunity!”

He straightened up and jumped off of the table, clearing his bones. “Something I’m sure you’re familiar with, since you have a similar skill.” Sherlock could only watch with fear in his eyes as the rest of the food disappeared. His stomach protested and his throat screamed at him. “I’m very excited to see how long it will take for me to bypass it, however.”

Sherlock licked his lips as he watched Surtr exit again.

\--

He was hungry. His throat was so dry. He needed fluids. No matter how much he wanted to gather information, he wouldn’t be able to survive for much longer. Mana bubbled but it was distant and faint. He needed something. Sherlock had wanted to be the master manipulator, the one with the reins, but by starving him, Surtr had grabbed control.

He was less aware of how long it had been since the last time Surtr had arrived. His mind felt foggy.

Surtr patted his cheek and Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Please,” was all he could muster.

That smirk returned. “What is it, Mr. Holmes?”

His stomach dropped. He would need to beg. 

“I...I need something to drink, please,” he croaked. His body felt so sore from simply lying there, and his mind drifted in and out due to the dehydration.

“Of course!” Surtr bellowed. Sherlock sighed in relief. Even if it was more thick heavy cream, it would be alright. He could almost feel it entering his throat and coating it nicely. And then, with something in him, he could think properly, and get back to figuring out how to-

His thoughts stopped when Surtr suddenly jumped onto the table. 

He scooted up so that his crotch was right in front of Sherlock’s mouth. “I’ve been waiting for this all day!” Surtr quickly fished his dick out of his pants, and smiled as he scooted forward. His cock, still flaccid, pressed against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock kept them closed. No! He was not interested in pleasing his captor! Sure, he would give him some compliments or do some things he asked, but this was extreme! He didn’t even know if he would be able to produce a healthy amount of saliva for a blowjob in this position, and he definitely was not interested in getting mouth fucked!

Surtr furrowed his brow. “I thought you wanted something to drink!” He grabbed onto Sherlock’s nose and pulled up, causing Sherlock’s mouth to open. “Now! Open up!”

Ah, yes, he was known for his anger.

He quickly inserted his dick in Sherlock’s open mouth and shoved himself as far as down as he could. Sherlock sputtered around his dick, but this was only the beginning.

“Get drinking!” Surtr screamed, and the floodgates opened.

Warm fluid ran down Sherlock’s throat. It did not take long from the taste and the smell to ascertain what was happening - Surtr was pissing in his mouth! Tears pin pricked Sherlock’s eyes as he was forced to look into the eyes of the man that was currently degrading him. The taste was disgusting, and the content was almost too much to bear, but all he could do was take big, hearty gulps.

And… well, it was a liquid.

His throat thanked him for finally drinking something, and he had to moan at the feeling. His lids dropped as he looked up at Surtr. It was a burning hot, almost like freshly-brewed tea. And the taste, well it was definitely strong - Surtr had mentioned that he had been waiting all day for this. Had he been holding so he could use Sherlock’s mouth as an urinal?

His throat came back to life and he could feel his strength slowly returning. His tongue curled up as he tried to coax more into his mouth.

Surtr simply laughed, “Look at you! You like my piss!” He smiled, and with one hand holding Sherlock’s head, he threw his own back, savouring the feeling of pissing into a warm receptacle.

“Drink up!”

And Sherlock did. He told himself that this was a necessary evil - he needed to drink up so he could have more energy. If he bit down, or fought back, Surtr might let him waste away. Maybe, if he was nice, Surtr would give him something better.  
He told himself this so he would not have to think about how the taste was starting to change.

Unfortunately for him, the stream died down, until it was only droplets falling onto his tongue. Surtr pulled his dick out, letting it fall with a slap onto Sherlock’s face.

“There you go! You look even better already!” He slowly ground his dick on Sherlock’s cheek, growling at the feeling of smearing his wet cock on his property. “Oh, how much would I love to fuck your little throat right now…”

He sighed and put his dick back in his pants, hopping off the table. “But that’s for another day.” 

Surtr turned to leave once more.

This time, Sherlock could not hold his tongue. His stomach was still in desperate need for food. He didn’t dare think about what wicked plans Surtr had for him, but he needed something. It wasn’t about finding information anymore - it was about remaining alive.

“Please,” he croaked, “Food.”

Surtr laughed. His eyes settled on Sherlock’s stomach. “Would you like some food, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

His eyes still on his stomach, “I’m glad we’re on the same page, then.”

\--

Now Sherlock had two ways of ascertaining how long it had been since his capture. He could guess, or…

… he could try and guess based off of his body’s changes.

At first, it was smaller meals, to help him get back to normal. Surtr would tease him by letting him lick off his old animal bones, as if he were a dog. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would get the fats or bad cuts of meat Surtr wasn’t interested in eating.

Sherlock quickly found that he did not fancy the ends on loaves of bread, and would happily take them from him. There wasn’t a lot of diversity in this lostbelt, so his diet had mostly been reduced to meat, potatoes, bread, and cheese.

And the cheeses were a gift, if Sherlock had been good. He had moaned the first time Surtr had passed a piece through his lips, his palette so used to tasteless breads and salty meats. The texture was divine, the taste delicious, and it matched the breads and meats so well. Surtr had simply laughed, “It was that good, huh?”

Surtr would continue to tease him by bringing foods he would never feed Sherlock. He had found a lake nearby and caught some fish, and Sherlock could only watch as the animalistic man ripped it apart and spat out the bones. On occasion, Surtr would bring cakes baked by the people in the village, and all he could do is watch with wide eyes as Surtr took one bite, complained about the sweetness, and threw it down onto the ground.

He would keep him hydrated with two things: heavy cream and piss. The heavy cream was still thick to his tongue and difficult to swallow, and he found that Surtr liked it when he kept some on his lips, so that he could rub it off with an armoured thumb. 

He missed the crisp taste of water so much that he looked forward to the days where Surtr had drank a lot, so the taste of piss wasn’t as strong. Sherlock was so used to consuming his piss that when Surtr moved to hop on the table, his mouth was already open, ready to drink from the tap.

Not...that he enjoyed these moments, of course. It was just he needed to be good to him to get what he wanted.

That had been enough to get him back to his original weight. His mind was less foggy now that he was regularly hydrated, but remnants of that time remained, and he searched his brain for what he felt he had been missing.

Once he had reached his original weight, the amount of food increased. Surtr would feed him big loaves of bread, fat boar thighs, topping it heavy cream. If he was lucky, Surtr would feed him a slice of the cake, smirking as Sherlock moaned at the sweetness.

That was his favourite game - giving him a similar diet for days on end, until he would show up with a new item and make Sherlock beg for it. 

This all amounted to Sherlock’s weight increasing. A flat stomach had rounded into a soft stomach that stretched the bindings a little. His pants felt tight around the thighs and his belt began to protest the added pounds. Of course, this would be nothing to work off with diet and exercise, but he was definitely heavier than normal.

That day, Surtr brought with him a giant wheel of cheese. It was round and smooth, obviously the work of a master cheesemaker, and after days and days of only animal fat and bread, his mouth immediately began to water.

He looked up at Surtr, hoping that his expression would be enough. Surtr raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

Sherlock swallowed thick. “Please…”

“Would you like some, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

He nodded in response. 

“Only good boys get cheese, you know that,” he continued. He looked down at Sherlock’s begging face and smiled. Oh, that face - he was so close. Soon, soon, he would have his enemy at his mercy.

He brought a finger to his lips. “How much would you like?”

Sherlock’s face told him all he needed to know: all of it.

“All of it!” Surtr tried to keep his anger down. He ran his hand above the top. “That is so much! You would need to be a very good boy to be deserving of that!”

Sherlock licked his lips. The bargaining began.

“You can piss in my mouth,” Sherlock suggested.

Surtr laughed, “That’s your proposal! Haha! As if you don’t look forward to my piss in your mouth - you prefer it over the heavy cream, don’t you!” He shook his head in disbelief. 

He leaned forward, letting Sherlock get a good smell, “No, you’re going to need something better.”

“You can use my mouth then,” Sherlock continued.

Surtr waved his hand. “I was planning on doing that today anyways! That’s nothing!”

Sherlock’s eyes darted between Surtr’s face and the wheel of cheese. He was salivating, and his stomach grumbled. With the increased diet, he was needing more and more to sate his hunger.

“What would you like from me?”

Bingo.

Surtr smiled and ran his fingers across Sherlock’s stomach. “I want to breed you, Sherlock, of course! Make you look so pregnant that Skadi gives you a womb, and then fuck you full of my offspring.”

Sherlock paled. No, he could not do that. He could not imagine Surtr’s dick inside of him - he hadn’t even experienced his dick hard yet! No, that was impossible.

His stomach rumbled. 

“No.” Sherlock bit down on his lip.

Surtr cocked his head, “No?” He shrugged his shoulders and moved to grab a piece of cheese from the wheel. “Alright! All for me then!” 

Sherlock’s head rose up and he opened his mouth. Surtr watched as his expression shook, trying to make his mind up.

He swallowed thick.

“Please.”

Surtr smiled, “What, Mr. Holmes?”

“Please...I’ll do anything...I just…”

Surtr smiled at his victory. He leaned over and broke the wheel in two, slowly easing it into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. The cheese disappeared quickly, and Surtr soon after, excited about his victory.

\--

Sherlock now had a routine.

He would wait for Surtr to show up with a whole bunch of food. He had been giving all of the food he received from the villages, plus some from Skadi and Ophelia, and feeding them to Sherlock. Sherlock would gobble them all down happily, before finishing it off with more cream or Surtr’s piss.

This would only excite Surtr, and not after his victory he began using any part of Sherlock’s body he desired.

Surtr ejaculated on a cake, his own personal icing. He handed it over to Sherlock and smiled as he had an internal debate.

“Come on, Mr. Holmes, don’t you want this cake?” he asked, thrusting it closer to his face. After only a couple of seconds, Sherlock greedily ate it all up.

With this increased diet, the table was having issues holding him up. His belly was now stretching the binds almost to the point of breaking. His big arms began squishing his face. 

Surtr decided to make things easier for him by removing the table and instead replacing it with a big bed. There was only one way out of the room, and Surtr had the key to lock it, so he didn’t worry about him escaping. The bed was large enough to hold Holmes’ expanding body. 

At first, this newfound freedom had Sherlock walking around more, using up old muscles that had grown sluggish. But soon, more and more hours of his day were spent on feeding or fucking, and as he grew more, the less he moved. Even rolling up to be in a feeding position left him winded and gasping, so Surtr returned to leaning over and feeding him directly.

The clothing had been removed long ago. No clothes besides maybe what the giants wore would even attempt to cover Sherlock’s ginormous body. The cold of the North paled in comparison to Sherlock’s own body warmth, and Surtr found him to be an almost personal heater.

Surtr did not mind the lack of clothing, however. Nor did he mind the increase in weight. When Sherlock’s stomach began to protrude out more, especially when it was tight and bloated after a big meal, he would rub it in satisfaction. “Look at you, Mr. Holmes! You look like you’ve been bred already!”

And then he would fuck him.

Sometimes, his mouth, after he had had a big meal, watching as the food mixed with his semen.

Sometimes, pressing Holmes’ growing breasts in between his dick and fucking them to completion. He would scoop up the semen and let Sherlock lick his fingers clean, as if to savour every drop.

Others, he would lift Sherlock’s legs and find his ass, fucking him hard and without abandon, relishing in the feeling of the fat jiggling around him. When his gut became to big, he simply would find two flabs to fuck, thrusting into his stomach, thighs, and leaving his come to dirty Sherlock’s skin.

And Surtr loved seeing this fashionable gentleman dirty. When he was satisfied with heavy cream, he would instead piss all over his body, leaving him sticky and sweet. He admired the view of Sherlock’s body covered in his own semen. He loved dripping heavy cream down his body, as if he was with child.

“Oh, you will look so good, knocked up with my child,” he would say, fucking Sherlock’s ass. “You want to be bred, right? Carry my child and then when you’re ready to go, have another? You just want to have my dick inside you, right? You don’t care about the rules of survival here, as long as you have a dick and some food, right?”

Sherlock moaned at this, his mouth open. He loved the feeling of being fucked after a long meal, as being fed by Surtr was the best feeling in the world. Surtr had been correct - his cock was useless, only releasing spurts into the sheets or onto his body to be covered by Surtr’s own. No, if he had a pussy, then he could be useful to Surtr’s wishes.

For all that mattered to him was being fed. He marveled in his new size, fully encompassing the bed. His head sat upon two big rolls of neck fat. Giant arms would swing to grab more food, or hold onto the sheets as he was railed, but nothing more - he wouldn’t even need to feed himself if he had Surtr, right? 

Two big breasts rested upon his giant gut, large and protruding past his crotch. He couldn’t see past it, and he was amazed that it continued to grow. It constantly rumbled for more food, and folded multiple times upon itself. His belly button stuck out - a favourite of Surtr to use as a hole. Sherlock found that being fucked in his belly button had become one of his favourite ways of Surtr using him.

His thighs were nothing but deposits for Surtr’s semen and sometimes, if he was lucky, massages. He had ceased walking, instead sitting on his large, shelf ass, happily letting the calories add to his weighing hips and dimpled thighs. Stretch marks ran up his thighs and around his hips, marking his growth.

He was ginormous, absolutely dwarfing Surtr now. If he minded, he did not show it, instead of helping Sherlock shove more food in.

“I’ve gotten the village to solely work on feeding you up!” Surtr said, one hand rubbing his clothed erection and the other feeding Sherlock some meat. His eyes clouded with lust as he pictured what he would do to Sherlock that day.

“And,” he said, reaching down to squeeze one of Sherlock’s breasts, earning a sharp moan from the ruler, “I’ve invited Skadi to come and see your progress. She’s busy, being a Lostbelt King, after all, especially now that that tricky pest has been dealt with - but she’s made time for my wish.”

Sherlock’s mind turned. He...he was sure he was missing something. Wasn’t there something important going on? He knew Skadi - she was the one who was going to give him a womb. But lostbelt? The pest?

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked between bites.

Surtr smirked and rubbed his cheek, “Don’t worry - you’re safe. Here, take some more food.”

And Sherlock did just that, without a worry.

**Author's Note:**

> @thatttumtho


End file.
